Another Night in the Musain
by The-Shadows-Of-My-Mind
Summary: A collection of drabbles about the Amis and other characters in Miz. Ratings will very from fluff to smut. Each chapter will have the rating at the beginning, so please be warned. Rated T, but some chapters will be M rated. Please read the warnings at the top of each chapter.
1. Thunderstorm (Jehan and Courfeyrac)

Rating: K+

Pairing: Jehan/Courfeyrac

Although he would never admit to it, Jehan Prouvaire was mortally terrified of thunderstorms. Though he had kept this fact a secret for the longest time, it became very difficult when he moved in with Courfeyrac. The dandy usually kept to himself and his company during the nights, meaning that if a storm where to happen, Jehan had the privacy to panic properly.

But of course, the night that a massive storm draped over Paris, Courfeyrac had decided to come home alone. Jehan had been glancing nervously out the window when the dandy had strolled in, wringing out the edge of his shirt with a sigh.

"Mon dieu...Can you believe this rain Jehan? It almost ruined my favourite waist coat!" He laughed, tugging off his jacket and shirt. "Well, I'm off for the night Prouvaire. Sleep well." And with that, he vanished into his room. Jehan looked after him, biting his lip.

"Would if I could..." He muttered, drawing the curtains closed and ducking into his own room. After tying his poorly cut hair back and clambering into bed with a soft whimper, he drew the sheets up past his ears and over his head. "Just sleep Jehan...Sleep and you won't even notice. You like the rain anyways...Don't you?" He said quietly, trying to reassure himself. After awhile, the poet dozed off to the sound of rain hammering against the window.

His rest was short lived, for an hour later a loud crack of thunder jolted the poet awake. Jehan instantly yipped, throwing the blanket over his head and snivelling quietly. He buried his head into the pillow, taking several deep breaths to try and calm down. Another crack of thunder sent the poet sprinting from his room and into Courfeyrac's.

"Etienne...Etienne, wake up." He whimpered, shaking the man's shoulder. Feyrac grumbled softly, batting at Jehan's hand and muttering something about some girl named Elza. Jehan bit his lip, glancing nervously at the window before shaking Feyrac again. "Etienne...Please?" He whined. Finally, the dandy rolled over and opened his eyes, frowning.

"Jehan...What are you doing in my room?" He asked, propping himself up onto his elbows.

"I...Um...I-I thought I heard something?" Courfeyrac sighed, shaking his head with a small smile.

"It's just the storm Prouvaire, go back to sleep." And with that he rolled over and threw the covers back over his head. Jehan looked around, whimpering quietly.

"Etienne..." He whimpered, shuffling awkwardly. Courfeyrac groaned, rolling over and sitting up.

"What is it now Jehan?" He snapped, not noticing the tears running down the poets cheeks.

"Etienne...M'scared." He sniffed, looking down at his feet. Feyrac frowned, and then when the realization hit he gave a small chuckled. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, patting the spot beside him.

"Come here Jehan." He said gently. Jehan barrelled into him, sniffing quietly and even trembling. Courfeyrac sighed, gently rubbing the boy's back. "Calm down Prouvaire...It's alright." He cooed gently, laughing quietly as the poet tried his best to stop hiccupping.

"It's stupid...Isn't it?" Jehan whimpered as he looked up at Courfeyrac, his eyes wide. The dandy laughed quietly, ruffling the boy's hair. "That isn't true Jehan, you know that." He said gently, wrapping his arm around the poet's shoulder. Jehan almost immediately nuzzled up against the others side, sighing contently. Courfeyrac laughed, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Feyrac, you won't think any different of me because of this, right?" Jehan asked suddenly, yawning gently. Courfeyrac was slightly taken aback, looking down at the boy snuggled against his side. "What do you mean Prouvaire?" "I mean...Do you think I'm pathetic, just because I'm scared of storms?" Feyrac blinked, shaking his head violently. "Of course not Jehan!" He said, clasping the boys shoulder. Prouvaire blushed lightly, biting his lip and looking down.

"Do you trust me?" Courfeyrac asked suddenly, tilting his head. "W-what?" Jehan stuttered, frowning gently. "Do you trust me?" Feyrac repeated. "I...I suppose so?" The poet replied, greatly confused. Courfeyrac smiled, tilting Jehan's chin up and pressing their lips together.

At first Jehan was completely still. Courfeyrac feared he had gone too far and pulled away, his eyes downcast. "Jehan...I'm sorry." He said quickly, but was cut off when Prouvaire threw his arms around the dandy's neck and kissed him fiercely. Courfeyrac was slightly taken aback, before shrugging.

After a moment, the two broke apart, Jehan turning bright red almost immediately. "S-sorry..." He stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Courfeyrac laughed, tugging the poet back to his side. "Don't worry about it Jehan...It's my own fault." Jehan gave a small smile, his eyes sliding closed.

"Feyrac?" He yawned, nuzzling against the others chest.

"Hm?"

"Can I sleep in here tonight? I think it's still raining..."


	2. Mon Amour (Joly and Feuilly)

Rating: M

Pairing: Joly/Feuilly

"Oh Joly" Feuilly sighed, biting the medic's neck. Joly squirmed under Feuilly's touch, not used to the unfamiliar sensation, but leaned into it none the less. The moonlight was just visible through the curtains, but other than the sliver of light, the bedroom was black. The fan maker kissed and bit Joly's skin; his neck, his cheek, his collarbone, his mouth. Joly's breathing quickened as Feuilly's attack became more forceful, and Joly tumbled on to the bed behind them, while Feuilly began to strip. The medic grew harder than he already was at watching Feuilly's clothing slowly disappear into the darkness, and soon enough the student was standing naked before him. Feuilly lowered his body over Joly's, softly kissing him and unbuttoning his shirt simultaneously, only stopping when he heard Joly gasp. "What's wrong chéri?" Feuilly asked the boy beneath him, caressing his soft brown hair. "I've… I've never…" Joly stuttered, turning his head away from the fan maker ashamedly.

Feuilly gave a sympathetic smile "I understand" he said, taking one of Joly's hands in his, and guiding it across his nude body "You don't need to be afraid mon amour" Feuilly lead Joly's hand across his chest and down to his abdomen, his grip tightening when their hands reached his cock. Joly looked at Feuilly curiously, and moved his hand to grasp the fan maker's hardening member, revelling in the reaction that he received. Joly tested with different speeds and pressures, analyzing each reaction Feuilly gave, seeing which would bring him the most pleasure. Once Joly locked into a steady rhythm, Feuilly grasped Joly's shoulders tightly, panting and beginning to sweat. "Please…" Feuilly gasped, thrusting his hips into the student's palm. With a small grin, Joly obliged, speeding up his pumping until Feuilly came in his hand with a shout. Joly continued to stroke Feuilly as he recovered, albeit softer and slower, and leaned up to kiss the other student. Feuilly rested his forehead on Joly's and placed his hands on the medic's chest, continuing to slowly unbutton Joly's shirt and trousers as he breathed shakily.

Not a word was spoken between the two as Joly was stripped of all of his clothing, and the boys' hands wandered along the other's body. Joly felt Feuilly's already hard erection rub against his, creating wondrous friction between them, and the two clawed at each other. Feuilly took slow breaths and broke away from Joly's embrace, much to the medic's disappointment and confusion. Feuilly kissed him quickly yet reassuringly, and pushed Joly down on the bed delicately, parting his legs slightly. The medical student grasped the blanket underneath him, knowing what was coming next. The fan maker hovered over Joly, pressing light kisses into his hair "Just relax" was all Feuilly whispered to Joly, before slowly entering him. Joly gasped and his body tensed at the sensation and pain, which caused Feuilly to stop momentarily "Breathe chéri, it'll be better soon" The medic managed a nod, and tried to calm his body enough for Feuilly to continue. When Feuilly was fully inside of Joly, he waited for the student to adjust, seeing Joly's eyes clamped shut and his breathing heavy.

After a few moments, Joly's composure calmed and his hips started to move slightly, which Feuilly took as a sign to continue. The revolutionary slowly pumped in and out, building up a harder, faster, stronger rhythm, and was delighted when Joly's hips began to match his thrusts. The heat between the two began to build, and Feuilly's hand snaked between their bodies to grasp Joly's cock. Joly clutched Feuilly's shoulders tightly, whimpering at the contact, and bucking into the fan maker's hand rapidly, ignoring their rhythm completely. The boys were sweating and thrusting into each other wildly, and they both hit their climax at the almost exact same time, screaming each other's names into the night. Feuilly's hot seed spilled within Joly as Joly came over Feuilly's hand and all over their stomachs. The revolutionaries lay down side by side on the cold bed in a comforting embrace, Joly curling into Feuilly's chest. Feuilly kissed Joly's hair and forehead "Je t'adore" he said with every kiss. Joly sighed contently "Je t'adore" he whispered back, just before drifting off to sleep in Feuilly's arms.


	3. Teach Me (Grantaire and Jehan)

Pairing: Jehan/Grantaire

Rating: K+

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Grantaire asked, stomping up the steps to the loft of the Musain, Jehan following happily behind. The poet looked up at him and snickered, nodding as he edged past the man, darting around the room and moving around the chairs and tables.

"Of course it's a good idea! What, are you expecting the others to be hidden around the room, waiting to jump out at you?" Grantaire stiffened, looking around the room with a scowl. Jehan laughed, hopping up onto one of the tables and letting his legs dangle off the side.

"So, are we ready to get started?" He asked, tilting his head with a warm smile. Grantaire sighed, shaking his head and running his hands through his hair.

"I don't know Prouvaire...I don't understand why I need to learn." The drunk sighed, pawing around the bar with a soft hum. Jehan rolled his eyes, jumping off the table and grabbing the drunkard's arm, pulling him away and to the center of the room.

"Oh come on! It's easy!" The boy smirked.

"But I don't dance Jehan, and I see no reason to learn." The young poet rolled his eyes, muttering softly.

"Enjolras was right, you certainly are stubborn." Grantaire paled, his eyes widening.

"You told Enjolras what we were doing!?"

"No! Of course not!" Jehan snapped, frowning slightly. "I would do no such thing!" The poet turned away, folding his arms across his chest and sighing. Grantaire could have sworn he saw a storm cloud appear over the boy's head. The drunk sighed, stepping forward and resting a warm hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Jehan, I'm sorry. It's just..." He started, but paused when the poet turned with a smile. Without speaking, Jehan took Grantaire's hands, placing them upon his own waist. Grantaire remained still as the poet placed his own hands on the drunk's shoulders, a light blush tinting his cheeks. Slowly, Jehan took a small step to the left, and Grantaire followed, tilting his head curiously as he watched the tension slowly drift out of the poet's slim frame.

"I'm leading then?" Jehan chuckled, freeing his hands long enough to tie back his poorly cut hair. Grantaire nodded slowly, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Jehan laughed softly, setting a steady beat before taking the lead.

Within moments, the two were spinning around the Musain, neither of the pair missing a beat. Not to Jehan's surprise, Grantaire had in fact lied about his two left feet, as the drunk was keeping pace with surprising ease. After finishing with the quick waltz, Jehan rested his head against Grantaire's chest, yawning slightly. Grantaire slowed, raising an eyebrow at the poet before shrugging and beginning to sway slightly, his arms wrapping around the boy's shoulders.

"Grantaire?" Jehan yawned, lifting his head to look up at the drunk.

"Hm?"

"You're a little liar..."


	4. Shoes (Feuilly and Courfeyrac)

Pairing: Courfeyrac/Feuilly

Rating: K+

* * *

Courfeyrac left The Musain, drawing his collar up against the rain and wind. Shaking his head and muttering a soft curse, the dandy strode off, humming a light tune under his breath. While many of the other Amis detested the rain, Courfeyrac loved it: the empty streets, the sounds, the feeling of a new beginning. The dandy sighed contently, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking around. A sight in one of the alleys caused him to stop not a street later.

A group of three men had pinned a boy around Courfeyrac's age to the wall, one of them holding the point of a knife against the boy's side. Courfeyrac blinked, watching as another one of the men slung a tattered bag over his shoulder and kneed the boy in the stomach, releasing his jacket. The two others both took a swing at the boy, sending him sprawling face first into the mud. Courfeyrac sighed, shaking his head and making his way closer to the group. The three men spotted him and took off, running down the street. Courfeyrac knelt beside the boy, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Excusez-mon monsieur...Are you alright?" The boy tensed curling into a ball and sniffing.

"P-please, I-I haven't got anything left..." He whimpered, casting a shy looked up at Courfeyrac. The dandy blinked, then shook his head.

"No! I don't want anything from you, I was just making sure you were alright." The boy looked up, mud dripping from the end of his nose. Courfeyrac extended a hand, pulling the boy to his feet. "...Feuilly?" The boy looked up again, his red eyes widening in recognition.

"Etienne!" Feuilly excalimed, lunging at the elder and wrapping his arms around Courfeyrac's middle. The dandy blinked, gently returning the embrace. Feuilly had begun to tremble, and Courfeyrac could hear the boy whimpering and fighting back tears.

"Gilles...petit, it's alright." Courfeyrac spoke gently, rubbing circles onto the boy's back. Feuilly sniffed, tears leaving trails down his filthy cheeks. Courfeyrac couldn't stand seeing the fan-maker so upset. It wasn't like Feuilly to complain about a little roughing up, never mind cry over it. Courfeyrac fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and began cleaning the mud and tears off Feuilly's face, still whispering gently to the boy. Slowly, Feuilly began to calm down.

"Sorry..." He mumbled, trying to clean off the splotch of mud he had left on the dandy's overcoat. Courfeyrac shook his head, taking Feuilly's hands and smiling gently.

"It's a coat Feuilly, it'll come clean." The fan-maker blushed, nodding and looking down at his shoes, or lack thereof. Courfeyrac frowned, following the boy's gaze. "Dieu Feuilly, where've your shoes gone?"

"I eh...Lost them?" The fan-maker repiled uncertainly, a weak smile tugging at his lips. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, grabbing Feuilly around the waist and throwing the boy over his shoulder, strolling calmly from the alley. Feuilly squirmed on his shoulder, pounding his fists onto the dandy's back.

"Pu' me down Courf, pu' me down!"

"Now why would I do that? You poor feet'll get wet!" Courfeyrac grinned, brushing his free hand over the soles of Feuilly's dangling feet. The fan-maker squeaked, wriggling on Courf's shoulder and growling.

"Don't do that..."

"What, this?" Courfeyrac asked, tickling the fan-maker's feet again.

"Stop it Courf!" Feuilly shrieked, trying to bite back his laughter as he tried desperately to get free. The dandy grinned, holding tightly onto Feuilly's midsection.

"Careful Feuilly, you'll send us both into the mud!" He chuckled, poking the boy's side. Feuilly stopped moving, grumbling under his breath. Courfeyrac grinned triumpantly, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. "Now let's get somewhere war and dry, shall we?" Feuilly mumbled a response, swinging his legs and resuming his squirming. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, looking around before hurrying down the street.

By the time they had reached Courfeyrac's flat, Feuilly had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Courfeyrac set the boy down on the couch, chuckling as the fan-maker began to snore softly. The dandy stood, lighting a fire and draping a blanket around the boy's shoulders and brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

"Dieu Feuilly..." He mumbled, settling into the armchair and resting his head on his knees, allowing the rain to carry him to sleep.


	5. A Different View

Pairing: Enjolras/Jehan

Rating: K+

* * *

Julien Enjolras was not one to laze about in the Spring warmth, content on watching the world go by; he was a man of action, a man who would not stop until the job was done. So when he appeared at the park, without a speech in hand, many of the Amis were stunned. Joly even suggested that their leader was sick, perhaps delirious. The others had muttered in agreement for awhile, glancing over their shoulders as Enjolras settled under a tree, laying back in the shade, his golden hair creating a halo around his features.

The poet Jehan Prouvaire was the first to approach him, his long brown hair tied back in a braid that had been draped over his shoulder. Enjolras opened an eye, gazing questioningly at the young boy, who had begun weaving flowers into his hair.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" He asked, gesturing out at the world. Enjolras sat up, smoothing his halo back onto his shoulders and shrugging.

"Through eyes such as yours perhaps, but it is not so for mine." he replied, meeting Jehan's eager gaze with a cool expression. The young poet frowned, clasping Enjolras' hand.

"Then you need to change mon frère. May I?" He asked, his hands abandoning Enjolras' own and idly playing through the elders hair. Slowly, the revolutionary nodded, and Jehan's face lit up. The poet spun round, kneeling behind Enjolras and combing thin fingers through golden strands.

"How do you see the world Jehan? Eyes such as yours do not seem to be troubled by the suffering of those less fortunate." Jehan hummed softly, his fingers faltering for a moment.

"I see the suffering, do not mistake that, but I prefer to focus on the hope that they possess. Like a flower trapped in a winter storm, they know change is coming, but they must wait." Enjolras nodded slowly, frowning softly.

"And if the change does not come?"

"It already has." Jehan whispered, trailing his hand lightly along Enjolras' jaw. The elder tensed, opening his mouth to protest, but pausing as Jehan completely moved away, standing and gazing at the city. Enjolras' hand ghosted to his hair, blue eyes widening as his fingers brushed a braid. The revolutionary frowned, curling his fingers around a stem and pulling. A small red flower lay in the palm of his hand, and he looked up at the poet with a puzzled expression.

"A rose," Jehan said simply, taking the flower from Enjolras' palm and weaving the bud back into the other's hair, "A symbol, if you will. Of the people's strength. They appear harmless and fragile, but are covered in thorns and will prick those who aren't careful." He finished, a small blush tinting his cheeks.

"You are wise beyond your years Jehan." Enjolras said, gripping the poet's wrist as he stood, a warm smile gracing his stony features.

"I spend much of my time with you; I've gained some of your wisdom." Jehan replied modestly, looking up with a shy smile. Enjolras chuckled, glancing over at the others before wrapping an arm around the poet's thin shoulders.

"Show me more of this world of yours, Prouvaire."


	6. Aftermath and a New Revelation

Pairing: Enjolras/Combeferre

Rating: M

* * *

Enjolras awoke slowly, the world blurring into focus. As he opened his eyes, he saw not the remains of a barricade, nor the cold stone and steel of jail, but the white walls of a hospital. He sat upright, despite the pain burning in his chest. With a small wince, the man surveyed the room he was in. An open window allowed the warm summer air into the room. The wooden door was slightly ajar, and Enjolras could hear several voices arguing quietly outside. As the blonde settled back into his pillows, one voice rose above the others.

"I don't care what it takes! You cannot allow this man to die!" Enjolras blinked, perking up slightly. Could it be...? No, surely everyone had died. The blonde would not tear his gaze away from the door, not until he was certain. The voices subsided, and a woman entered the room, followed by a weary looking man. Enjolras couldn't help but gasp, his eyes widening in shock.

"C-Combeferre?" The young man looked up, his solemn expression quickly replaced by one of sheer joy.

"Enjolras! You're awake!" The elder student exclaimed, rushing to kneel by Enjolras' bedside. The blonde couldn't believe his eyes, lifting a trembling hand to cup Combeferre's cheeks. When his hand was met with warm, living skin, Enjolras broke down, sobbing gently. Combeferre reacted quickly, ushering the nurse from the room and sitting next to the boy, pulling the younger against his side.

"Chut Julien, chut mon ami." Combeferre spoke gently, caressing Enjolras' back.

"I thought you all dead." Enjolras whispered, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. Combeferre shook his head, clasping the blonde's shoulder lightly.

"Not all Julien..." Enjolras looked up with red eyes, and it broke Combeferre's heart to see the tears gleaming in his eyes.

"The others...tell me, are they well?"

"Many are dead..." Combeferre replied softly, bowing his head. Enjolras bit his lip, a choked sob escaping from his lips. Combeferre instantly fell silent, gently pulling Enjolras into an embrace, allowing the younger man to sob into his shoulder. Combeferre stroked the man's back, cooing softly. Enjolras took a shallow breath, sitting back and bowing his head.

"How many are alive?" He asked quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. At this, Combeferre smiled. Immediately, Enjolras jolted up, the pain and mourning gone from his handsome features. "Who? Who is still alive?" He demanded, clutching Combeferre's shoulders.

"Joly, Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Marius..." Combeferre said, counting the men off on his fingers. Enjolras' face fell, his mop of golden hair falling to cover his face.

"So few are left...Combeferre, tell me honestly...Did we win?" Enjolras asked quietly, looking up with wide eyes. Combeferre smiled, nodding his head.

"Would we still live if we hadn't?" Enjolras' face lit up, any trace of sadness vanishing. Without speaking, the man barreled into Combeferre, throwing his arms around the man's neck. Combeferre couldn't believe what he was hearing as Enjolras began to laugh, the first sign of true joy anyone had seen from him in years. Slowly, Combeferre loosened the boy's arms, standing with a small smile. Enjolras gazed up at him, his features graced by a near childish grin.

"Rest Enjolras, you need to sleep." Combeferre whispered, gently pressing the boy back into the pillows. Enjolras gave a quiet squeak of protest, trying to sit back up with a pout. Combeferre sighed, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the blonde's forehead. "Sleep Julien, you'll need your strength soon enough." Enjolras looked up at him from the pillows, his eyes wide. Combeferre gave a small, almost shy smile as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Enjolras yawned, nuzzling into the warmth of the bed and allowing his eyes to drift closed, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Combeferre, please, can I look yet?" Enjolras sighed, leaning heavily on his cane and trying to keep his eyes closed. It had been almost a week since he had been let out of the hospital, and Combeferre had never left his side. The elder looked down, chuckling softly.

"Not yet Julien." Enjolras groaned, bowing his head and leaning against Combeferre's side.

"Can you at least tell me where we are?"

"Oh come come now Julien! Since when were you impatient?" Combeferre smirked, taking Enjolras by the elbow and leading him carefully up a set of stairs. The blonde stumbled, a squeak escaping his lips as Combeferre caught him round the middle, pulling the boy to his feet and holding him close.

"Careful mon ami." Combeferre chuckled, keeping his arm around Enjolras' waist. "We don't need you going back to the hospital, especially not now." Enjolras blushed, rolling his eyes. Combeferre smiled down at him, leading the blonde down the hall. Enjolras had closed his eyes, perfectly content with allowing Combeferre to guide him. The pair stopped at the end of the hall, and Combeferre pushed open the door. Enjolras followed blindly, clinging to Combeferre's arm.

"Alright, you can look now."Enjolras slowly opened his eyes, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. All of the surviving Amis were gathered around a table, upon which lay the red flag, his vest, a book of Jehan's poetry, and little Gavroche's tri-coloured pin. Combeferre stood behind him, supporting the blonde's shaking frame. The first to stand was Feuilly, who rushed over to the pair and embraced Enjolras. The blonde returned the gesture, but frowned when he noticed the patch of fabric covering the fan-maker's left eye.

"What happened?" He asked, gingerly tracing the fabric. Feuilly bit his lip and shied away from Enjolras.

"He lost it," Joly said, sitting up from leaning against the wall, "During one of the final attacks." Feuilly nodded, shuffling his feet. Enjolras has lost some of his colour, and he tightened his grip on Combeferre's arm. Joly noticed and stepped forward, resting a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. The boy looked up, before quickly looking back at his feet.

"It isn't your fault mon ami. You weren't the one to pull the trigger." The medic said matter-of-factly. Enjolras nodded slowly, chewing on his lip as he looked around the small group. Courfeyrac had his arm tied up in a sling, and a nasty scar running down the side of his face. Marius, like Enjolras himself, had bandages wrapped around his middle and required a can to stay upright. Combeferre and Joly seemed to be the only two to escape unscathed.

"What of Grantaire?" Enjolras asked quietly, raising a hopeful eye to the group. Everyone instantly looked away, turning their attention to the wall or their shoes. It was Combeferre who broke the silence, clearing his throat and turning Enjolras to face him.

"He is dead." The man said softly, his eyes downcast. Enjolras felt the ground beneath him drop, and he sunk to his knees and began to tremble. Everyone jumped to their feet, muttering softly. Combeferre waved them off, pulling Enjolras close to himself and trying to calm the boy, who had begun to cry again.

"I'm sorry mes amis…I'd better bring him home." Combeferre said, lifting Enjolras to his feet and casting an apologetic look at the group. The Amis nodded, settling back at the table and speaking in hushed voices. Enjolras clung to Combeferre as they left, tears still running down his pale cheeks. Several times the blonde's legs failed him, and before they even reached the door, Combeferre had picked him up bridal-style, gently rubbing Enjolras' back to try and calm him.

"W-why were they there?" Enjolras asked, his voice muffled by Combeferre's shoulder. "Why did you bring me there?"

"They needed to see you Julien."Combeferre explained, trying to hail a carriage without letting go of Enjolras. As the carriage pulled up, Combeferre looked at the boy. "Joly is right you know. Their scars are not your fault. Nor are the deaths of our friends."

"But they followed me to their deaths." Enjolras whispered, settling into the seat opposite Combeferre.

"It was their own choice Enjolras. They knew what they were marching into." The elder said, closing the door. "We'll go to my flat, alright? You'll go straight to bed." Enjolras looked ready to protest, but Combeferre had already turned to look out the window. Enjolras sighed, leaning his head against the side of the carriage, allowing himself to rest. But every time he closed his eyes, images of the fallen and wounded would fill his mind, the worst of which being the face of Grantaire: a spark that would never be seen again lighting his eyes. Enjolras jolted up, clutching his hand to his chest. Combeferre looked up, moving across the carriage and pulling Enjolras against his side.

"Calm down Julien…It was just a dream."

"It wasn't a dream Combeferre,"Enjolras sniffed, burying his face into Combeferre's side "It was a nightmare."Combeferre sighed, rubbing Enjolras' back and whispering soothingly. The blonde sniffed quietly, draping himself across Combeferre's lap, his eyes drifting closed. The elder student gave a small smile, resting his hand on Enjolras'shoulder, turning his gaze out the window once more.

The carriage pulled up in front of Combeferre's flat, the jolting stop causing Enjolras to cry out in pain. Combeferre growled, shouting curses at the driver as he helped Enjolras out of the carriage, scooping the blonde into his arms and slowly making his way up the stairs to the flat.

"Combeferre, would you mind if I…s-slept with you?" Enjolras asked softly after they had entered the flat. The elder looked down at him with a small smile.

"Not at all Julien…Just keep your hands to yourself." Enjolras blinked, tilting his head. Combeferre chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Never mind…" Enjolras shrugged, looking around Combeferre's flat with a small smile. Combeferre nudged open the door to his room, scowling at the mounds of books. He sighed, returning the common room and laying Enjolras on the divan, pulling a blanket over the blonde's shoulders and returning to his room. It was not until much later that night when he remembered that Enjolras was in the other room. He stood and looked into the main room, where he was pleasantly surprised to see his friend sleeping on the divan. Upon closer, his face fell: Enjolras' face was screwed up and twisted. He was writhing and squirming, quite obviously in the midst of a nightmare. Combeferre dashed to his friend's side, and shook him awake,

"Julien! Julien, wake up!" With a start, the blonde's eyes flashed open.

"F-Ferre? What-"

"You were having a nightmare"

"I...oh" Combeferre sat beside Enjolras and put a comforting arm around his friend's shoulder.

"What is troubling you, mon ami?" With a start, Enjolras shied from Combeferre's touch and looked away,

"This, Claude, this! The revoultion failed, people died! I have blood on my hands! What about Jehan, Bahorel, Mabeuf! I cannot bring them back, can I?!"

"Enjolras," began Combeferre, "you are a human being. You, despite what Grantaire would say, are not perfect. I understand that you are upset at our friends no longer being with us, as am I, but there is naught that we can do as of now. They would want us to be happy, no?" Enjolras looked at his friend with a small smile,

"You are right, Claude, thank you" Combeferre pressed a reverent kiss to his friend's forehead, smiling slightly. Enjolras stiffened,

"Combeferre what was-"

"I-sorry, I didn't-"

"I..It's alright, I mean-"

"What?"

"Could you do that again?"

"What, kiss you?"

"Yes." Combeferre moved to kiss Enjolras' forehead again, then moved to his cheeks, then dared to press one to his lips. Enjolras, much to Combeferre's surprise, curled his arm around Combeferre's neck and kissed back with fervour.

"Enjolras...I love you." murmured Combeferre, snaking his fingers through Enjolras' curls, kissing harder and daring to deepen it slightly. Enjolras reciprocated it almost fiercely, throwing both of his arms around Combeferre, thrusting his tongue into Combeferre's mouth.

"I love you too, Claude, my friend" Enjolras mumbled when he broke for air. It was only then that Combeferre realised he was hard, and broke away, blushing furiously.

"Claude?"

"I-I'm sorry Julien it's just I-"

"I can see." Enjolras said, which only cause Combefere to redden further.

What he did not expect was for Enjolras' hand to slide down from his shoulders, down his hip and to the buttons of his breeches.

"Julien what are you doing?"

"I only want to please you, Claude" he replied, unbuttoning his breeches and slipping his hand into them, grasping Combeferre's length. Combeferre gasped, screwing his eyes closed. His hips bucked forward into Enjolras' hand and he let out a small moan.

Combeferre pressed his lips to Enjolras' again and then, in a flurry of feverish movements, they were both on their feet, hands eagerly tearing away cravats, sliding off waistcoats, ripping off shirts and pushing off trousers. They ended up in Combeferre's room, where they fell onto the bed, Enjolras on top of Combeferre, both completely naked and hard.

Enjolras bucked his hips into Combeferre's, eliciting a moan from them both. In another sloppy meeting of lips, Enjolras thrust their hips together again, developing a rhythm. It quickly turned into a haze of thrusts, sweat, hands, moans, kisses and cries. It was hard to tell whose body was whose, Combeferre seeming to melt into Enjolras, their erections trapped between them. Enjolras came first, crying out into Combeferre's shoulder, and Combeferre spent soon afterwards, arching his hips off the mattress and yelping Enjolras' name into the air. Covered in sweat and come, Combeferre and Enjolras looked at each other, locking their gaze.

"I love you"

"I love you too"


End file.
